


Reclaiming

by DegenerateBible



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:18:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DegenerateBible/pseuds/DegenerateBible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being missing for two months, George Huang has resurfaced and its up to Rafael to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s aware of his body. The tired bones. The creak of joint and jaw. The continual pulse that only seems to pound in his wrists, his trembling fingertips. He’s all fear, all raised edge, tired ears trying to block out all this damn noise. Olivia Cragen Munch Fin all talking at once, huddled around the open door and he should be overjoyed but he’s nothing but overwhelmed. 

 

“What should we do? We can’t just leave him there.”

 

“Every time we try to move him, he starts screaming.” 

 

Backed against the wall of the hospital room, feeling the cold linoleum through the skimpy gown. He’s disconnected his own IV and can feel the drop of blood flow like a river down his bruised arm. 

 

The room smells of antiseptic and latex, the air static in the way only places where death happens can have. Outside, he hears wheelchairs and phones, the squeak of sneaker against polished floor. So much motion. He’s thankful for this quiet he can maintain. 

 

“George.” Olivia’s voice, her jean-clad knees in his vision, her warm eyes as she crouches down to his level. That tone: a careful blend of gentle and urging. “Come on George, the doctor needs to see you. You need to put your IV back in. Please.” 

 

He just stares, feeling nothing, wanting nothing. Somewhere, maybe in his mind, a clock ticks. George thinks about his time there: the constant cold and hunger. The lack of light. The fist that bloomed bruises on his flesh. 

 

Eventually Olivia gets up; walks back to the audience still huddled outside the door. He can’t hear what she saying but it’s funny how after all this time—“two fucking months”—her voice still warms him. 

 

He hears the steps, the quick angry footfalls. “Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner!” 

 

Rafael. His voice so uncharacteristically irate and his body trying to push through the detectives huddled in front the hospital room like a blockade. 

 

His face, haggard and unshaven. His clothes, still in his suit, worn Oxfords, the tie loosened. His eyes, wide and wild in the light, hands uncharacteristically shaking at his sides. 

 

Olivia places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You can’t go in there. He’s…he’s in really bad shape. I know you two are close friends but—”

 

“Friends?” Said with an icy acidity. George can practically see his brows rising, his jaw setting. “You think…?” an abrupt, nearly mocking laugh that quickly dies, “You don’t understand. I need to see him.” 

 

And he crosses the threshold without anyone trying to stop him, walks up to his lover.

Rafael gazes at him. This broken thing. The small body in the thin hospital gown with bruises and wide eyes staring at nothing. 

 

“George,” he says, a crisp, choked whisper. Those dark eyes rise slowly to meet his own, somehow both sad and void. 

 

“Don’t,” George says, his voice gnarled from lack of use, eyes flashing. “You think you can come in here and…” he shifts, averting his gaze. “You think I’m distraught. You think I’m crushed and that you can fix me. I’m not…I…don’t feel anything.” 

 

Rafael walks further into the room, his footsteps echoing. He sighs, runs his fingers through already tortured locks and licks his lips. 

 

“I think…” a measured exhale, his throat throbbing with emotion, “I think that for a long time you’ve had all your decisions made for you. I think you’re tired. I think you want to cry and curse God or fate or whatever bastard did this to you. But most of all, I think you want control over your life back. So I’m here saying whatever decision you make, I’ll still be here. I’m not leaving. So if you decide to sit here all night, that’s fine. I’ll be here.” 

 

So he sits, close but not touching. Close enough for George to feel his warmth, to smell his scent and see his fingers trembling with the effort to not touch him. Two months. Rafael had thought he was dead for two months. So many days, so many hours, of just knowing his lover was gone. 

 

He swallows, feels the cold of the floor through his slacks and watches George’s profile. His hair is overgrown, nearly touching his shoulders. Fading bruises marring his exposed skin. 

 

“I thought you were dead you know,” the attorney says, dazed, looking straight. “I held out hope. I drank, cried; weeks went by. But we kept looking. We never stopped looking. You…I…none of us, we just couldn’t function without you.”

 

“Rafael.” George is on top of him now, having moved quick and graceful, straddling his hips, dominating his vision and senses with every inch of his tired body. Rafael swallows. George’s gaze is still dull and he exhales. “I missed you too.” He curls against him, nestling his head against his collarbone, sighing. “I’m just so tired.” 

 

Now Rafael gingerly runs his fingers through George’s overgrown hair, caressing the nape. “I know,” a gentle fleeting kiss to a bruised temple. “Believe me, I know. But you have to let the doctors come examine you. And Olivia needs a statement.” 

 

“Please.” He’s begging now, peering into Rafael’s eyes with his own, the color a hopeful and innocent brown. “Not now. I’m so tired.” A quiet yawn to prove as much. “I just want to sleep.” 

 

“George-” 

 

“I never slept there.” He watches as Rafael’s eyes darken and he swallows. “Never. Never. I couldn’t. I just want to sleep.” 

 

And how could Rafael refuse him? After all this time, the smaller man had an undeniable hold on him. 

 

“Okay, baby. You can sleep.” Another gentle kiss to his temple and George settles against him. 

 

How long had Rafael wanted this? His lover back in his arms, George’s gentle breath against his neck. He sleeps almost immediately, the epitome of exhaustion. 

 

Rafael holds him, rests his back against the cool wall and waits until he can move him. When the quiet, boyish snores meets his ears, he rises. The detectives have not left. They are silent, sobered by their display. Shock and realization is etched into their faces. 

 

The attorney ignore them and sinks into the hospital bed. George stirs uncertainly. 

 

“Shhh,” Rafael whispers softly, “it’s alright. Sleep. Sleep.” 

 

And for the first time in months, George does.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning Olivia takes his statement. His eyes are hollow. His voice cracks. Rafael holds his hand as he recounts it all. The ambush. The men. Three of them. The basement and the chains. They sporadically fed him. Sometimes days went by when he’d be alone. 

“Those were the best times,” he says, in a voice none of them recognize. Weary and raw. “I thought they’d finally leave me there but…” he stops, his eyes red, his fingers trembling, “but they always came back.” 

Olivia writes it down with a shaky hand. Finally, she looks at and says, suppressing her own tears, “Did they say anything to you? Did they say each other’s names?” 

George thinks for a moment. He brushes his overgrown hair from his face. Rafael watches his face, his eyes a dark green, his jaw clenched. 

“One of them,” George says, “Terrance Roosevelt.” 

“Okay. You did great George,” Olivia says, catching Rafael’s gaze and holding it. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow if I got something. Counselor, can I talk to you for a moment?” 

Rafael looks at her. Then he looks at George who is looking at nothing. Rafael says something in his ear, touching his shoulder, waiting for him to nod, before he straightens and follows her out of the room. 

“What is it?” he asks. He looks as though he hasn’t slept. He’s in the same clothes. She can only guess how many cups of coffee he’s had. 

“Did you ever plan on telling me? Any of us?” she asks. “I thought we were close.” 

“You never asked,” Barba replies. His voice sharp and weary. He amends it, running a hand over his face. “Look Liv I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. There was never a good time and then he got taken – I was out of my mind.” 

“I remember,” Olivia says, directing him to the waiting room chairs. They both sit down, letting out long sighs. “You were a wreck. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t sleep. You broke down when Amaro told you. I just thought…” 

“You and everyone else,” he says drily. He looks her head on, his eyes bloodshot, his tie loosened. “I love him Liv. I really do. Thank you,” he touches her shoulder, “Thank for giving him back to me.” 

He rises. 

“This won’t be easy,” she says. 

He gives her the saddest smile she’s ever seen. “It never is,” and walks back into the room. 

George is in the same position as when he left. Head down. Trembling hands. He plays with the tie of his hospital gown. 

“George,” he says. The doctor doesn’t bother to look up. Rafael places a hand on his shoulder. He flinches. Rafael withdraws his hand. 

“Médico,” Rafael urges him gently, collapsing into the chair next to the bed. “Médico please look at me.” 

George slowly raises his head. He looks like a young child, his lips chapped. There’s a bruise on his arm, another on his neck. His nose red, his eyes brown, his body kaleidoscope colors of hurt and healing. There’s so many things Rafael wants to ask. But he doesn’t. He’s still amazed that George is there, safe, back to him. 

He watches George look him over, his body, his face. 

“You should go home,” he says quietly and lowers his head. “You look tired.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Rafael says with such sudden heat that George finds his gaze again. “I’m not leaving you,” he repeats, standing and slowly approaching the bed. “Alright?” 

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to. I’m...I’m not okay.” He looks down, he looks around the room, he looks everywhere but the attorney. The normally open man so withdrawn, so scared. He puts his head in his hands. “I don’t expect you to, I mean, I can’t, I’m not—” he stops suddenly. Begins to cry. 

It hurts. Watching him hurt. Rafael moves further onto the bed. George fights him, hits, pounds his back, swears in English, Mandarin, Spanish. 

Eventually he settles. He curls into the attorney. Rafael can only hold him, staring up at the overly bright lights of the ceiling as his own tears fall from his open eyes. 

Eventually the doctor comes in. She’s young, red-haired with pretty blue eyes behind rectangular glasses. 

She tells him he has no STDS or STIs. He’s dehydrated. He’s underweight. 

“How long will I need to be here doctor?” 

“We want to keep you a couple more days doctor,” she tells him, smiling gently, “We need to get you hydrated. Today is Wednesday. Best case scenario you’re out by Friday. But you need to rest and retain fluids.” 

…

When Olivia and Amaro come to visit him, Rafael is still there. They watch from the doorway. He’s trying to get George to eat. He’s forgone the suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His hair is mussed, stubble along his jaw. 

He holds a plastic spork out to the other man. 

“Rafael I—“ 

“Come on médico, it’s healthy,” Rafael says, smiling, “it’s meatloaf,” takes a bite, grimaces, coughs, “it’s disgusting.” 

George watches him, a small smile on his face. 

“Well,” Barba drawls, dropping the spork back to the tray. “Do you want me to get you something? A burger? Chinese? I can get some General Tso’s chicken from that –“ 

George laughs. It’s sudden but genuine. He laughs and catches Barba’s bewildered expression, and keeps laughing. 

“I’m sorry it’s just…Rafael,” he says, his voice light for the first time in days, months, amused. “I’m a vegetarian.” 

Rafael breaks into laughter. Olivia thinks it’s the first time she’s ever seen Barba that carefree, that loving and gentle. 

“How could I forget?” Rafael asks, chuckling. He sits down next to him on the bed with a tender smile. “Do you remember our first date?” 

George sighs, grinning, resting his head on his shoulder. “How could I not?” 

“I brought you to a steakhouse –“ 

“—and you kept telling me how good the steaks were –“ 

“—and you just sat there drinking so much wine –“ 

“I mean what was I going to say?” George questions, chuckling. “I was mortified.” 

“I don’t know,” Rafael murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “But I do know you had a salad and gave me a second date and I got to see you a little drunk so I’d say it was a success.” He looks up, spots the detectives. He sighs, kisses his forehead again, before pulling away. 

“Detectives,” Rafael greets in a tone that indicates he’s less than thrilled to see them, “You’ve found something?”

“Actually we were hoping the doc could come down,” Nick says, his hands in his pockets. “If you’re up for a line-up.” 

“You’ve found them?” Rafael questions, disbelievingly “so soon?” 

“Animals like this always have records. We got Terrence trying to board a plane to Mexico. He ratted on the other two. We have all three,” Olivia says, then lowers her voice to something soothing, “You think you’re up for it?” 

They all turn their eyes to him. He looks up and despite the bruises, the hair, the hospital gown, he somehow looks close to who he was months ago, before all this began. 

“Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

The squad room is overwhelming to him. There’s so many people, so many men, moving and yelling and lights and sounds and smells. The coffee pot, the telephones, the chairs scraping against the floor. After months of being in cellars and basements with very little light and noise he can’t take it. 

Everyone is looking at him. Their gazes one of surprise. Sympathy. Grief. 

Rafael is by his side. He’s murmuring something, a mix of Spanish and English. But George’s mind is somewhere else, hyper focused on keeping his breath steady, his hands still. 

“Hey there, kid,” Munch says, stopping in front of him. He’s long and lean, his gray hair brushed back, in a black trench coat. 

“I’m not much of a kid anymore John,” George says, not meeting his eyes, but he lets the other man hug him. 

“Well with that hair you could be,” Munch quips, with a small gentle smile. He cups the back of George’s head and sighs. “Listen, I’m retired. It means I got a lot of time to talk. Alright?” 

“Alright,” George agrees and lets Olivia lead him to the line-up. 

It’s small, dim. Filing cabinets and the one-way glass is all the room has to offer.

He watches the men walk slowly into the room. There’s six of them, all similar height and build.   
White guys. Close-cropped black hair, green eyes. 

George takes a settling breath, licks his lips and opens his eyes. “Number three,” he says and swallows. 

And so it goes. 

“Number five.” 

And goes. 

“Number one.” 

By the time the last group is being led back out, there’s a lump in his throat. Olivia tells him he did great but he can’t hear anything. He’s back in that basement with their hands, their mouths, their teeth, fists, stomachs, thighs. The smell of his own blood, the taste of it in his mouth. 

“Can I take a break?” He asks quietly, still staring at the glass.

Olivia and Rafael exchange glances above him head. 

“Of course,” Olivia says. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“No, no. I just need a minute.” He tries to smile at them before he leaves but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

The door closes. Rafael seems to deflate, leaning against the file cabinet. He manages a slow exhale. “What now?” 

“Now we interrogate the lowest man on totem pole.” 

…

The room is silent. Concrete walls, barred windows, the one-way glass. 

“You’re going down Riley,” Olivia tells him smugly as she walks into the room, case file in hand. “You just got picked out of a line-up.” 

Riley Newman is smaller than the rest, slender. Wrap sheet from petty theft all the way to sexual assault. His parents are junkies. His sister is dead. 

He bares his teeth in some caricature of a nervous grin, lips pulled back to show discolored teeth. “Is that so?” he murmurs slowly. 

“Yeah and your boy Terrence is probably giving you up right about now.” 

He looks up at her for a minute, alarm flickering across his expression before he chuckles, runs his hand through his greasy blonde hair. 

“Nah, he wouldn’t say nothing.”

She sits down across from him, her eyebrow quirked. “Oh, so there is something to say?” 

“No, no!” He bites his knuckles, won’t meet her eyes. Her guess is he’s strung out too. His foot taps against the floor. 

“See Riley you wanna know what I think?” Her voice hardens. “I think Terrence’s brother got picked up by the FBI. The doc testified against his crock psych defense and he got sentenced to life.” 

“I –“ 

“I think Terrence wanted to get even. I think he recruited you and Carlos to kidnap and torture him.” 

“What? No! I—“ 

“I think he offered you drugs or cash or whatever it is you wanted and you fell in line. You gonna sit here and tell me that isn’t true?” 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Riley says, looking frantically around the room. He bites his knuckle til blood is drawn. “Terrance wanted to kill him but I—“ 

“You what?” Olivia demands. 

She watches his small crazed smile form. “I saved him,” he says, his voice a chocked, awe-filled whisper. “Terrance wanted to kill him. But he was too pretty too kill.” He pauses, looks up at her and smiles a different, lewd smile. “He was such a pretty little thing.” 

“So you’re admitting to rape?” 

He looks horrified, his eyes water. “No…I mean I tried to be gentle with him. The others, Terrence and Ricky…they hurt him and didn’t care but I…I was gentle.” His eyes plead with her. “I wasn’t like them you gotta believe me. After about a month or so Terrence got bored. Said we should finish the job we started. But I said we should make videos. There’s lots of money in it and –“ 

She drops the case file, leans over the steel table that separates them. Her eyes livid slits, her voice a lethal quiet. “Riley, look at me.” 

He raises his head slowly. 

She steels herself, succeeds in keeping the tremble out of her voice. “Are. There. Videos?” 

He lets the question hang in the air for a moment. It seems that he’s going to cry or vomit or piss himself. “No,” he shakes his head. “Nothing. I swear. You guys got him before we could.” 

She lets out a long slow breath of relief. She feels centuries old. “Are you willing to testify to this?” 

He slowly nods. 

…

She joins the attorney in the observation room. 

“That son of a bitch,” he whispers. 

He practically vibrates with rage. His fists are balled. His eyes dark as night. 

“That sick bastard.” 

“Barba.” 

“Those fucking –” he breaks off, muttering darkly, a slew of Spanish curses. 

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Rafael.” 

He shakes his head. “I know.” 

“You shouldn’t have been in here. You know this can’t be your case.” 

“I know,” he shakes her hand off his shoulder. “I just needed to see the bastards that did this.” 

…

“Care for company?” 

George looks up at a face he hasn’t seen in months. 

“Alex,” he says, with a genuine if weary smile. “Word travels fast.” 

Alex Cabot returns his smile, leaning against the wall outside the precinct. “How you holding up?” 

He chuckles. It’s bitter and pained. She gives him a worried sideways glance. 

“You still smoke?” he asks. She clears her throat, before reaching into her pocket. She lights a cigarette, passes it to him and then lights her own. 

They smoke in silence for a minute. Her hair is shorter. She’s switched perfumes. But she’s still his friend. The same friend he’d eaten takeout with at midnight, watched horrible reality shows when they were both sick, slept on each other’s couches, in each other’s beds. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says finally, exhales smoke into the air. “I meant to call more. I’m sorry.” 

She dismisses his apology with a wave of her hand. “We were both busy. But I missed you too. I came as soon as I heard.” 

He leans his head against the wall, closes his eyes. “Everyone hears everything but me it seems.” 

“George –“ 

“You know they didn’t even ask if I wanted to press charges?” He takes a final pull, flicks the bud to the sidewalk. “I mean of course I do, but it just feels like my life isn’t my own. Like everyone is making decisions for me. Rafael is halfway out of his mind trying to fix it but he can’t. I can’t. No one can.” 

“You can still get justice,” she says. 

His smile is crooked, amused and sharp. “That’s what we tell victims all the time, Alex. But you know what I realized? It still doesn’t take back what was done. No amount of justice can make you forget.” 

He looks at her troubled face. He pushes himself off the wall, and pulls her into his arms. She clings to him for a moment. He wants to take away all her grief, her pain, but he knows he can’t. He can’t even take away his own. Not yet. 

He touches her cheek, tears spilling from her blue eyes. 

“It’s going to be okay Alex.” 

She laughs, weakly, and wipes her face. “That’s what I should be telling you.” 

He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “Remind me again when all of this is over.”   
...


	4. Chapter 4

“Home,” George says when Rafael asks him where he wants to go. “No more hospitals. No more precincts. I want to go home.” 

They’re outside the precinct. Rafael is regarding the street. George is smoking the cigarette Alex had gently pressed into his palm before she departed. 

“George you need to go back to the hospital,” Rafael says. 

“I’ll go back to the hospital if you go back to work,” George counters. 

And then they look at each other. Rafael looks troubled, under caffeinated, earnest. George looks weary and distant. There’s this moment, this split second where he just wants to leave, to run from his trauma, New York, the FBI, the home he’s made, and never look back. But he knows he can’t. He could never leave Rafael behind. 

“You trying to get rid of me?” Barba questions, only half-joking but the tension is there now. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” the doctor says, a noticeable edge in his voice. “I’m fine.” 

“There’s no way you’re fine,” Barba says shaking his head. “There’s no way you’re fine.” 

George flicks his cigarette in the street, scowling, his voice a decibel higher without meaning to be. “How would you know?” 

“Because I’m not fine! You’re not fine! Nothing about this is fine!” The attorney shouts. He huffs a breath, wiping sudden, hot tears from his face. A few people stop and regard them but Barba doesn’t care. He doesn’t look at the other man but after a long moment, he feels a hand on his shoulder. Then George is hugging him. The attorney for all his bravado can do nothing but cling to him. He feels remarkably guilty. 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad,” George says and the attorney can only chuckle weakly in his arms. “This happened to both of us. To everyone I’m close to. I’m not the only one that needs to heal.” 

The embrace ends. It looks like it’s going rain, for the wind picks up, ruffling the doctor’s hair. 

“I can’t go back to work,” Rafael says softly, shaking his head, “Not yet. This is going to sound crazy but I can’t let you out of my sight.” 

George smiles sadly. “You do better when you’re busy,” he says. He looks up at the graying sky. “Take me to work with you.” 

So Rafael does. 

 

…

His secretary likes George more than him. Probably always has. Barba smiles as he watches George talk to her. He only fidgets a little, only trembles slightly. 

“You planning on joining a boy band?” she jokes in regards to his hair. The doctor laughs genuinely. 

“Just in case the FBI thing doesn’t work out,” he says. Then he looks at Barba and they both think the same thing: he hasn’t called his boss yet. 

“Does he even know I’m back?” He asks the attorney as they make their way into his office. Barba shuts the door and makes a beeline for the coffee pot. 

“We kept him in the loop,” Barba tells him, his back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. “But I think after a while we figured if they couldn’t find you then we certainly would. I don’t know if Olivia ever told him we got you back.” 

He hands the doctor the steaming mug. George sits on the couch, mindlessly stirring it. 

“How did you find me?” George asks quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the cup. Rafael takes a sip of his drink, regards him for a long moment. 

“There was a noise complaint,” Barba says, his voice so strangled the doctor looks at him again. “The warehouse was abandoned but it used to be owned by Terrence Roosevelt’s cousin.” He pauses, leans casually against the front of his desk and takes another sip. “It was a gamble but Terrence had threatened you many times in the past so the squad went, guns blazing, and they found you.” 

George says nothing. Instead he takes a sip of his coffee and sinks deeper into the couch cushions and closes his eyes. Barba wonders the last time he’s slept, really slept. 

“Can I use your phone?” George asks and its thrown into his lap almost instantly. He smirks and takes it, dialing a number he knows by heart. 

He excuses himself and Barba watches him pace outside before proceeding with his work. 

The blackberry lands on his desk with a thud. “He wants to meet me. Right now.” 

Barba is so engrossed in his work that he didn’t hear him at first. He blinks. 

“What?” he says blankly looking up at the other man. 

George gives him a patient smile. “He wants to meet me at the field office. Right now.” 

“Oh,” Barba says, standing. He rifles through his files and checks his watch. “Well, traffic is going to be a bitch but just give me a minute to –”

“Tiánxīn,” George says, “I’ll go. You stay. I’ll meet you at home.” 

The attorney pauses before reaching into his pocket for his keys. He tries to keep his panic out of his voice as the doctor takes them from his grasp. “You sure?” 

George touches his hand, smiles dryly. Rafael would never admit to being afraid of that look. 

“I’m not sure of anything.” 

…

Rafael slides his key into the lock. Toes off his shoes. Hangs his jacket on the coat rack. Walking further into the apartment, his lover’s name half-way off his lips, he drops his briefcase. But then he sees him. 

George is asleep. Curled into himself on the couch. He’s in one of Rafael’s T-shirts, the rest of his body covered by blankets, his face half-turned into the cushions. 

There’s no nightmares tonight. No tension on his brow. His mouth is slightly parted, quiet snores floating up into the air. A light is on in the kitchen. The apartment is silent. Rafael tiptoes over to the couch, sits on coffee table and watches him sleep. 

“Mi cariño,” he murmurs softly. 

He loosens his tie, pulls down his suspenders. His phone buzzes with some notification and he curses himself for not putting it on silent. 

George stirs at once. 

“Rafi?” he mumbles, peering through the darkness. He sits up, the covers falling from him. Rafael rises, flicks on a lamp, smiling. 

“Hey.” 

George blinks owlishly, looking like a sleepy child. His body glows in the lamplight. 

“You talk to me when I’m asleep.”

“I do,” Rafael nods, blushing a little. “Is there any reason you’re on the couch and not in my bed?” 

The doctor’s trusting look vanishes. He straightens, pulling the covers up to his chest, drawing in a shaky breath. “I don’t think…” he swallows, looks nervously around the room, “I don’t think I can sleep with you.” 

“George I didn’t mean –“ 

“No I know. I just think it would easier for everyone if I slept on the couch.” He tries his best to maintain eye contact but Rafael’s face falls. 

“Of course,” Rafael says and clears his throat. He rises. “Well let me know if you need anything.” 

But George grabs his hand as he walks past, halting him. “Rafael please. I…I love you. I do. But I can’t…you don’t know what it’s like.” He pulls the attorney to the couch, near tears. “All those men. Touching me. Every day for weeks. For months. I can’t let anyone touch me I feel so…so…” 

Rafael waits for him to gather his thoughts, doesn’t dare shift or speak. 

“I feel so dirty.” He says it like he can’t believe the words, looking at his hands. “I feel like no one can touch me because then they’ll be dirty too. And I _know_ it’s irrational. I know. I tell my patients all the time that they shouldn’t blame themselves. And I don’t blame myself. I don’t blame anyone.” 

He looks up at Rafael. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid that if you reach out to me in the middle of the night I won’t remember that it’s you and not them. I’m sorry.” 

The attorney says nothing. He doesn’t want George to see him cry. But then George is touching his cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes lock, both full of unshed tears. 

Rafael leans into his touch. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. George places a warm kiss to his forehead. 

“Stay with me,” George says. “Stay with me until I fall asleep.” 

And oh how Rafael has missed his touch, the feel of his lips on his skin. He’d give him everything, anything he’d ask for without question, without thought. And George seems to know this. He curls into him, trembling slightly and Rafael wants to say, no, he doesn’t have to do this for him. 

But George looks up with a rare genuine smile and says, “it’s alright. I’m okay. Just til I fall asleep.” 

And despite being exhausted himself, needing a shower and a shave, and maybe even some food as George denounces his coffee diet, Rafael can’t think of anything important enough to pull him away from watching his sleeping boy. 

…


	5. Chapter 5

“You didn’t answer my text,” Olivia says as the street vendor hands her two cups of coffee. She gives one to the attorney and tries to keep up with his pace. 

“I was predisposed,” Rafael says, taking a grateful sip, feeling his weariness. “What’s up?” 

“I just wanted to see how the doc was doing.” 

He halts them at the foot of the courthouse steps. “He’s…” he falters with a sigh, staring helplessly into the street. His eyes are clouded with a rush of thoughts, his mouth a worried frown as he adjusts his sky blue/bright yellow striped tie. 

“I’ve never know you to be at a loss of words counselor,” she quips, then schools her voice to one of concern. “That bad?” 

“He’s been through hell Liv, it could be worse.” He takes another sip, sees the look on her face and sighs. “Some days he’s almost like he was before everything happened. But other days… He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He can’t stand people, anyone, touching him.” 

“Well clearly he has PTSD and maybe even depression. It’s normal,” she assures gently, brushing her bangs from her face. “Is he seeing anyone?” 

“You want a shrink to see a shrink?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “More to the point: you want George to see a shrink?” 

“Would that be the worst idea?” Liv counters. 

“I’m afraid he’ll say all the right things.” 

“He’s good at that,” Olivia says and watches the reluctant but fond smile form on the attorney’s face. 

“He is,” he agrees and clears his throat. “But what’s stopping him from pretending to be fine? I want him to get better.” He starts walking up the steps, pausing only to open the door for her. 

“I’m sure he wants that too counselor,” Olivia says as she hurries to keep after him once again. “But it has to be his choice either way. You can’t protect him forever.” 

He stops them outside the courtroom, his tone simultaneously sharp and determined. 

“Watch me.” 

…

George is alone in Rafael’s apartment. He’s idle. He hasn’t been idle in years and doesn’t know what to do. The first few days he read, then he watched cooking shows, he brushed up on his Spanish, he considered getting a cat. 

His boss told him to take some time off. Just til the trial is over. After a psych-eval he could get his job back. His job…

“Do I want to go back?” he says softly one night, almost to himself. He’s in a chair in the kitchen with a towel around his neck. Rafael is behind him holding a pair of shears. 

“Of course you do,” Barba replies immediately. He cuts the other man’s hair in silence for several moments. When he’s done, he runs a comb through it. 

“George?” he questions, placing his warm hands on the doctor’s slightly trembling shoulders. 

He startles, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste. Barba watches him take a shaky breath before straightening and going over to the tea kettle, flicking on the flame. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette, his eyes closed. 

Barba waits until he opens his eyes to approach him. They’re both leaning against the counter staring straight ahead. 

“Here,” George sighs apologetically, extending the cigarette to him. 

“Bonito,” Barba replies with a sigh of his own and takes it from him, knowing a peace offering when he sees one. He takes a drag and exhales. “I don’t listen to you.” 

“Rafi…” George says helplessly, placing a soft hand on Rafael’s forearm. 

“It’s true,” he takes another drag. “I don’t listen to you. I try to help you and maybe even fix you but I never ask you how I can help you, what you need. It’s wrong and I’m sorry.” 

The tea kettle begins to whine. Neither moves. 

“I love you, George. I don’t want to lose you.” 

George turns the tea kettle off. Rafael watches him. 

“You won’t,” George says matter-of-factly as he pours tea into two mugs. He looks into Barba’s eyes for a moment, assessing, then cups the back of his head and kisses him. So soft, so tender. Rafael drops the cigarette in the sink and holds him. 

“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know,” George murmurs when they part, his head resting on Barba’s chest. “I just need some time to figure things out. When I do, you’ll be the first to know. But don’t baby me. Alright?” 

They lock eyes, green meeting brown. Rafael wants nothing more than to hold him, to love all the places that have been hurt. 

“For you bonito?” he asks tenderly, smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks, “Anything.” 

George rests his head more heavily against his chest, gripping his lapels like he never wants to let go but eventually he does. 

…

It’s not that Alex _disliked_ him. True on their first meeting she found him a bit slick, perhaps even a little arrogant. But hasn’t she been accused of the same crime? She knows what it takes to be an effective ADA especially when you’ve already had a point against you be it sexuality, gender, or race. Besides she had to admit he made George very happy and as his best friend, that’s all she wanted. 

But they were never close. Even when George got taken. Rather than band together, they grieved in separate ways. Granted he was the one to call her when they got George back. 

She’ll never forget it. It had been nearly 2 in the morning when the phone had birthed her quite abruptly back to consciousness. She remembers peering through the darkness for her phone, clumsily sliding her hand over the alarm clock, pens and anything else that rested on her drawer. 

“Hello?” 

“Alex? Is it you?” There was something desperate and visceral in the voice on the other end that had Alex sitting upright immediately. 

“Rafael?” She’d asked, clutching the phone to her ear. She feared the worst. “George…Oh god Rafael is he –“ 

“No. No. He’s alive. We found him. I’m calling you from the hospital.” There was so much relief and joy that Alex realized just how much Rafael Barba loved her friend. But her mind was working overtime trying to piece together everything. It didn’t help that Barba was talking a mile a minute. 

“Olivia and Fin found him in a warehouse they didn’t find the bastards though but we’re still looking we won’t stop looking oh my god alex I just can’t believe he’s here really here just returned of course there’s so much we still have to figure out but for now oh god I –“ 

“Rafael!” She’d said sharply, waiting for his voice to cease before speaking. “Which hospital is he in? Can I see him?” 

Here he’d paused, a deep sigh escaping his throat. “Maybe in a few days Alex. He…he told me he didn’t want you to see him like this.” 

She remembers that now as she sits across from him in a 24-hour coffee house. He doesn’t look arrogant anymore. More tired, more conflicted. 

“He doesn’t leave the house?” she asks incredulously, brows knotted in disbelief. 

Barba shakes his head, taking a sip of the hot coffee in front of him without seeming to taste it. 

“No. He doesn’t leave the house. He reads and smokes and watches day time soap operas,” he replies with a shake of his head. “It’s like living with a ghost.” He takes another sip. “You know the craziest part? The craziest thing?” He catches her gaze and holds it, green eyes meeting blue. “I wouldn’t give a damn about any of it if it made him happy. Hell, he could walk around all day in a bathrobe eating cereal straight out the box and yelling at Opera if that’s what he wanted. But I know it isn’t. But you’re his best friend. You’re his family. I need your help.” 

Alex takes a sip of her own drink, grimacing at the sudden barrage of rain sliding down the windows in thick sheets. She hadn’t brought an umbrella. 

“George he’s…” she pauses, searching for the right words and brushing her blonde hair behind her ear. “He’s always fine, even when he isn’t. He doesn’t like people fussing over him and he doesn’t open up. But he’s strong,” she says with conviction. “He’s honestly the strongest person I know. I mean, to have compassion for hardened criminals? To try and help them get better even after hearing all the horrible things they’ve done? I couldn’t do it.” 

“Neither could I,” Barba admits. “You think that’s why we became prosecutors? To help of course, but after everyone else had to do all the dirty work?” 

Alex matches his smile with her own and says, “I don’t know about you, but the courtroom is the dirtiest battlefield I’ve ever seen.” 

He amends with a nod but it’s clear his mind his elsewhere still. She sighs, touching his hand gently to bring him back to the present. 

“He’ll get better. Be there for him. Push him. Love him. That’s all any of us can do.”   
…

When he comes home, George is backed against the cupboards in the kitchen. His arms are slung loosely around his knees in some protective gesture. The apartment is dark besides a lamp left on in the living room and the occasional crack of lightening. 

Barba closes the door softly behind him, padding around the house as he calls out to him. He nearly trips over him in the kitchen. 

“Sorry,” George says hollowly. He’s in Rafael’s alma mater sweatshirt. 

“No worries,” Rafael mumbles as he lowers to his level, sitting beside him. 

He doesn’t have to ask to know something about the rain, most notably the thunder and lightning, triggers something within his lover. So he doesn’t. Instead he watches George watch him nonchalantly light a cigarette, clearly intending to wait out the storm with him. 

Rafael starts to hum a song from a musical they both like. George takes the cig from him, watching with a reluctant grin. 

“I’ll be your shelter. Just pay me back with 1,000 kisses. Be my lover. I’ll cover you…” 

“Are you serenading me with the RENT soundtrack?” George murmurs in amused disbelief but he seems to release a bit of tension. 

Rafael shrugs, not even bothering to look abashed. “It’s one of your favorites. I know you can sing bonito. I’ve heard you in this shower.” 

George blushes, resting his head on the cupboard closing his eyes. Eventually he begins whistling then eventually picking it up. “Open your door. I’ll be your tenant. Don’t have much baggage to lay at your feet. But sweet kisses I’ve got to spare. I’ll cover you.” 

“I think they meant it,” they sing in unison, oblivious to the rolls of thunder and the flashes of lighting, smiling at each other right there in the small kitchen. “When they said you can’t but love. Now I know you can rent it; a new lease you are my love.” 

“You really are George,” Rafael says after their voices fade. They both rise from the floor. George gives him the dying cigarette back but Barba puts drops it in the sink. 

“You remember earlier when I said don’t baby me?” George questions quietly, staring self-consciously at his feet. He licks his lips, looking up after a beat, his eyes a bit misty He’s an expert in human emotion but was never particularly good at expressing his own. He feels raw and vulnerable, has for weeks now but refused to let anyone see it. Until now. “Do you think…just until the rain stops…maybe….?”

Rafael has his arms around him in an instant. George chokes on a sob as he buries himself in the familiar warmth of his lover, wondering why he deprived himself of it for so long. Pride was certainly a factor. He was also never one to depend on others. But Rafael was different, of that much he was sure.

“Let me take care of you,” Rafael murmurs before laying a kiss to his temple, scooping him up and carrying him to the bedroom. He lays George on the bed and peels off his suit in the weak moonlight. 

They settle into bed in what was once their usual pattern, Rafael on his back with George curled into his side, his head on the attorney’s chest. George traces random patterns on his chest, feeling grounded by the dull heart beat echoing against his ear. 

“I missed you so much,” George says after a long lapse of silence. “I never thought I’d see you again.” 

Rafael tightens his hold on the smaller man’s waist, the other stroking his hair thoughtfully. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs sighing, staring at the ceiling. “I still miss you somedays.” 

“I miss myself too.” It’s clear neither expected that reply. Both are sobered by the quiet truth of it. George continues tracing shapes on his lover’s chest, his voice a frightened whisper in the darkness. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

“Then maybe you should seek help,” Rafael says, rubbing his back as George tenses like he knew he would. “I want to help but I don’t know how and that’s no one’s fault. I want you to get better. For you, mi cariño, no one else. Even if you never work in law enforcement again. I just want what’s best for you.” 

George lets out an acknowledging hum. Rafael watches him dip into slumber, realizing it’s the first time since he was rescued that George was in their bed, let alone felt safe enough to fall asleep in the presence of another person. He decides its progress. 

“I’ll make some calls,” George says around the edges of a yawn, before his eyes slip blessedly closed. 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're both broadway singers so I just wanted them to sing together. Tbh don't really know where I'm going with this. Suggestions are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review.


End file.
